Steele's Side of Approval
by KSteinart
Summary: The ending of Steele of Approval extending to Steele Searching. Encompassing both Steele's and Laura's perspectives.
1. Default Chapter

**Steele of Approval - Steele's side**

By K. Steinart

DISCLAIMER: This "Remington Steele" story is not-for-profit and is purely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the characters and am in no way affiliated with "Remington Steele," it's creators, producers or distributors.

This is an extension to the ending of Steele of Approval and leads into Steele Searching. Some scenes are slightly changed from the original episode. (Original scenes are in italics.) It also assumes Steele and Laura did not leave for their trips the same night that they wrapped up the case, but the next morning.

_Remington Steele looked at the letter in his hand one more time before dropping it into the mailbox._ He hoped she'd get it soon and that it would help. _The envelope contained a reinstated business license for Remington Steele Investigations._ He considered enclosing a note to explain, or to apologize, but in the end, he sent only the license. _After dropping the letter in the box, he turned and walked back to the waiting limo, _probably for the last time.

_"Home Fred," Steele said to the driver._ Home indeed, also for the last time. His hand on his chin, Remington stared pensively out the window all the way to his penthouse apartment. For nearly three years he had been Remington Steele. It had been the best three years of his life, but now it was all over.

Laura's recent words kept playing over and over in his mind. "We_ should take a break, see if this agency, our work, is all we have, all that is keeping us together."_

"No," he had wanted to shout. "I don't give a damn about the agency, it's you I want. You I need. You I love." But he had said nothing. He had just stared at her, numb with shock, and she had taken his silence for consent.

"You're a bloody coward."

"What's that Mr. Steele?" Fred, the chauffeur, asked.

"Nothing Fred. Just thinking out loud."

"Are you all right sir?" Fred inquired delicately. Normally he would have ignored what was happening in the rear seat, but he knew his boss well by now. Mr. Steele was acting strange tonight, almost as if someone had died.

"I'm fine Fred. Just pondering a particularly vexing case." Remington tried for his usual jovial voice but failed.

"We're here sir." The limo pulled up to the curb and stopped.

"Thanks mate." Remington reached over the seat and shook Fred's hand before getting out. Two taps on the roof signaled Fred that he could retire for the night.

Questions about his employer's odd behavior raced through Fred's mind as he drove off. He hoped whatever was troubling Mr. Steele would be resolved soon.

On the fifth floor, Remington unlocked the door to apartment A. It felt comfortable here. It was a feeling he'd longed for all his life, but until he'd met Laura, was something he'd never found, or perhaps never allowed. He'd spent his life always moving and changing, to a different house in a different country with a different name. Now it was time to change again. Laura had made her feelings clear. She wanted to move on, probably with that Senatorial candidate, William Westfield. He was all the things Laura admired: hard working, upstanding, and morally decent. Remington hated him. A thought occurred to him. "I've become Murphy," he said, slamming the apartment door.

Murphy had been in love with Laura too, and hung around, how long? Over three years at the Steele Agency plus several years before that at Havenhurst. He'd worked with her, guarded her, eaten dinner with her, and hell, even kissed her. But in the end she wasn't interested and he'd finally moved on. Moved on because I came into the picture. I took over Murphy's job, and now this Westfield chap is doing the same to me. Remington sunk onto the couch, rubbing his face with his hands, wondering where to go and what to do. At least Murphy had a name and a home when Laura dumped him. Remington was painfully aware that he possessed neither. He dropped his hands and stared straight ahead for a long while. A glint of something caught his attention. Sitting on a table next to the couch was a pocket watch suspended under a glass dome. He lifted the dome and removed the watch. This was it. The only thing in the world that was truly his. When he flipped open the lid, "When Irish Eyes are Smiling" jingled merrily in direct contrast to Remington's current mood. He ran his thumb across the inscription, "to SJ from KL."

The watch had come to him one day in the mail. Enclosed was a note, "Your father always wanted you to have this," and was signed "Patrick O'Rourke." Remington had gone to Ireland searching for O'Rourke, and ended up with amnesia. Unfortunately, by the time his memory had returned, Patrick had been murdered. Without any further leads, Remington had reluctantly given up the search.

Remington snapped the watch shut. I need to know who I am. I have a watch, and somewhere out there, I have a father. If I find him, I'll have a name. Maybe if I went to Laura with the answer to her most persistent question, she'd trust me and trust my feelings for her. Slowly a plan formed in his mind. "I can do this. I have to do this," he vowed. Remington got up and started making plans to pursue his past.

Several hours later he had made airline reservations and packed. The penthouse had been cleared of all his personal belongings, just in case. In case he failed. In case she didn't want him back. It would be too painful to return if that occurred, so better to do it now. Most of the items were stored at a local U-rent facility. He'd paid for a month, reasoning that if he wasn't back by then... well. Better to think positively. He would be back. He was traveling light, a change of clothing, the watch, and five passports (carefully hidden) in a small duffel bag. He'd packed a picture of Laura, but took it out at the last minute. She was always there in his heart, he didn't need the picture. Remington decided he wouldn't feel right about leaving without a word. A note was in his pocket, but there was someone else he needed to see. Someone, who in her own way, was just as special to him. Taking a deep breath, Remington approached her door and knocked.

Mildred Krebs was fixing breakfast when she heard the knock on her kitchen door.

"Who could that be?" she wondered, cautiously peeking through the curtains. Immediately she opened the door. "Boss, what are you doing here?" she asked eyeing the duffel bag.

"May I come in?" Remington motioned toward the kitchen with his bag.

"Of course, of course. I didn't expect any company. I was just going to eat. Can I get you anything?"

"No thank you, I'm fine."

Mildred eyed him closer. "You don't look fine chief. Pardon me, but you look like hell."

"Good, because I feel like hell."

"Not feeling well?" Concerned, she reached up to feel his forehead. "Do you have a fever?"

"No, I'm not ill." He waved her hand away. "Just... it's only... Laura and I..."

"Uh oh, did you and Miss Holt have a fight?" Mildred motioned for him to sit down.

He dropped the duffel on the floor and slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. "Fight? No, a fight requires two participants."

"Don't tell me you yelled at her," Mildred admonished, sitting opposite him.

"I'm not the one who did the yelling." The scene flashed again in Remington's head. Actually, Laura hadn't seemed upset, just coolly stated that they were through.

"She yelled at you? Why?" Mildred asked in a softer tone.

Remington shrugged. "She was very upset about losing the agency license."

"It was a mistake, wasn't it? Those congressmen bought off that inspector. We'll get it back, right?"

"I already had it reinstated. Miss Holt should receive it in the mail soon."

Mildred looked puzzled. "Say... why would she yell at you for losing the license to your own agency? I know you're the head, and she's in charge and all, but..."

Remington sighed, not knowing how much to tell Mildred, but wanting her to finally know something about the arrangement between Laura and him. "Well boss?" Mildred raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, arms crossed over her chest.

Remington put both his hands flat on the table. "Mildred, I'm not the boss."

"I know. I just said, she's in charge of the day to day nuts and bolts of the operation and you--"

"It is not my agency." Remington blurted out.

"What? Wait, you tried to tell me something like this before. During that case with the guy with five wives. I thought you were just trying to make me feel better."

"The agency is Laura's," he continued. Then, wanting to soften the truth a little, he added, "We're partners."

"What do you mean? You didn't start the agency? But it has your name."

"You see, earlier, Laura had tried an agency of her own, but no one wanted to hire a female investigator, so we used my name."

"Go on," Mildred said fascinated.

"She and I met while we were working for different clients on a case involving rare gems," Remington said carefully.

"And she asked you to be a partner in a new detective agency?" Mildred asked eagerly.

"Yes," Remington said, going along with her assumption. "We named it after me, to give the clients more confidence, but Laura is the superior detective. I'm really her assistant."

"You're too modest. " Mildred reassured him with a pat on his hand.

"Thank you Mildred." Remington's face reddened.

"So that's why she's ranting about you losing the license."

"Yes, Mildred, that's why. She worked really hard to create this agency and it seemed that I'd thrown it all away."

"Why didn't you know about those cases boss, um, chief, um?" Mildred stammered, not knowing what to call him now.

"I couldn't join her immediately to start the agency. I.. um.. still had some other business to take care of.. so she... ahh, started it without me."

"Using your name?"

"Using my name. She hired a friend from the Havenhurst Agency, Murphy Michaels, to help her until I could join them full time." This only stretched the truth, it wasn't an outright lie, Remington rationalized.

"I see. You didn't know about those cases because you weren't there in the beginning. Laura and this Michaels guy handled them."

"Exactly."

"Then why is she so mad at you? If you didn't handle the cases they were asking about, she should have been there answering those questions." Mildred was getting all worked up. "Besides, nothing we could have done would have stopped that licensing inspector, because he was paid to yank our license. Wasn't he?"

"Calm down luv, calm down." Remington reached out and patted her arm. "I don't think she's mad at me. Just... um... tired... of me." He was finding it hard to explain to Mildred, because he didn't really understand it himself. "Do you know anything about this William Westfield?" Remington asked, trying to sound casual.

"That Senatorial candidate we were investigating? He was clean. Why?"

"Did Laura mention him, or mention, oh... Mexico maybe?"

"Only that they went down to uncover..." Mildred caught his drift. "Hey wait a minute chief... do you think she... she and he... they?"

"Precisely what I think," Remington said dejectedly.

"But I thought you two were finally clicking, getting closer. You seem much chummier at the office."

"I thought so too, but that's not how Laura sees it, because she wants us to take a break, thinks we need to examine our feelings, alone and apart."

"So that's why you have the suitcase? You going somewhere?"

Now Remington was in a bind. He hadn't told her the whole truth, about who he really was. So how could he tell her he was off in search of his real name? Laura would kill him if he did. Funny that he still cared if Laura would be mad at him. No, he decided, it was too complicated to go into.

"Are you going somewhere?" Mildred asked again, interrupting his thoughts.

"Yes, I'm off to --" He almost told her his destination, but decided he wanted to keep that a secret for now. "-- to pursue a case," he finished lamely.

"A case? What case?"

"A case we worked on a year or so ago. The leads had dried up and we closed the file, but I need to try again. This case has been a sore spot between us. I want to conclude it to show Laura --"

"To show her you're a good detective and worth keeping around?" Mildred supplied.

"Something like that. I could be gone for awhile, and didn't want to leave without telling you that I've really enjoyed working with you. You've been like family to me Mildred." He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

"Oh you," Mildred blushed. "I think of you as family too, another nephew, like my Bernard. You and Miss Holt are both like family to me. But you'll be back in no time, right? So why the long goodbye?"

"I may not be back Mildred." Remington looked down. He couldn't bear to see the crushed expression on her face.

"Not ever? Why?"

"It's Laura's decision really. I would stay forever, if she'd let me, " Remington said softly.

"Let you?"

"I think she wants to dissolve the Agency. Maybe she's getting tired of it, or tired of me. I think she wants to pursue a relationship with that Westfield."

"And break up our happy family? What can we do to stop her?"

"I'll follow up on this case."

"Will solving this case will make things better again?" Mildred was skeptical.

"If it doesn't, I don't know what will Mildred."

"We need to deep six this Westfield guy."

"Mildred would you be serious. If he's who Laura really wants, then I don't think there's anything either of us can do about it."

"Well then, we'll keep a positive thought. All is not lost yet."

"Right. We'll keep fighting. Go down in flames if we have to." Remington and Mildred clasped hands as if sealing the bargain.

"Look Mildred, I'm not telling Laura about leaving to pursue this case. I want it to be a surprise."

"She'll notice you're gone. What should I say?"

"Could you just play dumb for awhile? You know, pretend I never was here?"

"Are you sure you don't want to tell her anything? Leave a small note? She'll worry."

Remington hesitated, then pulled the letter from his pocket and handed it to her. "I wrote this, but I'm not sure I really want to give it to her. If she really wants me gone, wants Westfield instead, then I wouldn't want her to read it."

"Gotcha, I know where you're coming from." Mildred shook the letter. "I hold onto this. If she forgets all about you - God forbid - I burn it. But if she's worried sick and pining away for you - which we hope she will be - I pretend to find it in your desk or something."

"Mildred you're a jewel." Remington stood. "I to go now. I'll call the office tomorrow to let you know I arrived safely."

Mildred stood and held out her arms. Remington gave her a warm hug.

"I'll look forward to hearing from you. Take care of yourself, Mr. Steele. I'll see you soon." With a tear in her eye and Laura's letter clutched to her chest with both hands, Mildred watched him go.


	2. Laura's Side of Approval

**Steele of Approval - Laura's Side**

By K. Steinart

DISCLAIMER: This "Remington Steele" story is not-for-profit and is purely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the characters and am in no way affiliated with "Remington Steele," it's creators, producers or distributors. The songs and lyrics mentioned are not mine either.

This is an extension to the ending of Steele of Approval. Some scenes are slightly changed from the original episode. It also assumes Steele and Laura did not leave for their trips the same night that they wrapped up the case, but the next morning.

Laura Holt left Remington's apartment and leaned against the wall, blowing out a long slow breath as she waited for the elevator. When it arrived, she entered and pushed the button marked 'Lobby' with a shaky hand. Her talk with Remington hadn't gone well. She had suggested they take some time apart to think about the agency, their relationship, and how it all fit. After the last few days, she'd felt a break would be welcome. A couple of days apart to let things calm down without rehashing the same old arguments. They'd known each other for over three years, but the relationship hadn't progressed. No commitments, no promises of any kind, not even an understanding that they were exclusive. The elevator doors slid open and Laura walked to her car. Images of William Westfield drifted into Laura's mind prompting unsettling feelings in favor of a nonexclusive relationship with Steele.

William was a good looking, clean cut, dedicated public servant who was running for a seat in the Senate. The agency had been checking out his background for the election committee and he had been checking out Laura. A few days ago in Mexico, they had shared a moment together while following up on a lead in the case. A lead that had cracked the case wide open and exposed bribery and deception of the election committee itself. When she'd gotten too close to the truth, the committee - which included current and past senators and congressmen- had tried everything to keep the conspiracy from being discovered, including having the agencies investigator's license revoked to prevent her from pursuing the case.

Laura eased her Rabbit convertible away from the curb and headed for home. The phone was ringing as she unlocked the door to her loft.

"Hello? Oh, Mr. Westfield, Okay, sorry," she gave a little laugh. "William. Nothing much, I was just thinking of you actually, going over the case and all. Tomorrow? No. I don't have anything pressing at work tomorrow, just paper work. Why? Mexico? Four day weekend? Well, um," she hesitated. " Sure, why not? I'll meet you at the airport. Flight 1112. 10:30. See you there. I can hardly wait too. Okay, bye." She hung up the phone. It was a bold move. Something the old Laura from years past would have done, going away for a weekend with a man she'd just met. Laura felt giddy at the prospect, also, for some reason, a bit guilty. "No fan dances on the bar this time though," she told herself sternly.

Laura turned over in her sleep. She was on top of a bar, dancing. William, wearing a white sombrero, was sitting on a stool cheering her on. Suddenly a group of monks wearing brown robes and carrying wine bottles came into the bar. They sat down next to William and put their wine bottles on the bar, making it hard to dance. Laura almost dropped her fan. She jumped off of the bar and clapped her hands over her head. Her bright red dress swished as she stomped her heels. William threw his sombrero onto the floor and she danced around it.

"Wait, you promised ME this dance!" said a monk. He jumped off of his stool and threw back his hood. It was her former boyfriend, Wilson Jefferies.

"No," Laura said. "You had your turn. Your dance is finished." She pushed him out the door.

"Let me have a turn," said a second monk. He jumped up and took Laura in his arms. His hood fell back. Murphy Michaels. "Please, Laura, I waited so long. Let me have this dance." Laura took the rose out of her teeth and stabbed him in the heart. He fell to the floor and disappeared.

A third monk confronted her. "No Clarissa, you were going to give me the package, remember? You promised." His hood fell back to reveal a sinister man with close cut hair and beard. He was holding a gun. Laura cried out for help.

William jumped up and picked up his sombrero, returning it to his head. "I need to go, but I'll propose a Bill in committee tomorrow to limit the possession of hand guns," he called as he rushed out the door.

Suddenly a dashing figure clad all in black, swung down from a balcony. He knocked down the monk and took his gun, before sweeping Laura into his arms. His blue eyes twinkling through his black eye mask. "Did you call, darling?"

"Yes," she replied throwing her arms around his neck. "I believe this is your dance." He took off, flying them both up to the fifth floor balcony where they gently alighted. The stranger set her down and wrapped his cape around them, embracing her in a kiss. She reached up and untied his mask. Remington Steele stared back at her. Laura woke with a jolt, sitting upright in her bed. "Ugh!" she groaned falling back down onto her pillow.

Groggily Laura awoke. She smacked off the blaring alarm and sat up. "What a night!" She ran her hands through her hair and looked at the clock. She'd need to get a move on if she was going to meet William at the airport at 10:30. Laura got out of bed and quickly showered, then went to her dresser and pulled out a bright peach V neck sweater. It had a picture of an ocean with a sail boat knit into it. A large palm tree was just below the right shoulder. Satisfied that it was bright and festive enough for Mexico, Laura donned the sweater and dug out a pair of softer peach colored slacks to match. She tossed a few things into her carry on bag and headed out the door.

Stuck in traffic, Laura wondered why she'd bothered to hurry. Some sort of accident up ahead was tying up several lanes. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, her mind beginning to wander. Going to Mexico with William beat staying in LA and filling out paperwork. Plus it beat confronting Steele about the agency's license being revoked. She owed him an apology for that. She'd accused him of losing the license when there was really nothing anyone could have done to prevent it, since a congressman had bribed the licensing board inspector to yank it. Traffic inched forward a few yards.

William believes in the good old fashioned work ethic. Steele is a conniving conman who tries to ooze his way out of work with charm. As always, his aversion to doing leg work hindered the case. No, Laura had to admit. He'd pointed the case in the right direction by tracking down the rental car that almost killed me, and discovered the committee had hired a hit man to scare me off. Laura inched up, almost past the trouble spot, but would need to squeeze over a lane to get clear.

Laura's mind continued to rationalize going to Mexico with Westfield and leaving Steele behind. After all, Steele is only out for what he can get for himself, like me in his bed. Not true again. Though she'd never gone to bed with him, Steele had helped her when she was sick, homeless, or in trouble. He helped, without question or complaint, always being a gentleman and a friend. He helped others too. He loaned friends money when they were down and out, and arranged for that pickpocket kid to go to school. A spot opened up in the next lane. Laura squeezed in and moved past several cars.

A pair of blue eyes stared vacantly out a taxi window at the nearly stationary cars. Lost in thought, Remington slumped in the back seat running a mental list of people he should contact about his father. A flash of white caught his eye. Someone had jumped the line and moved a few cars ahead. It was a Rabbit. Laura's? He sat up straighter to look. Just wishful thinking of course. There must be hundreds of white Rabbit convertibles in LA. Besides, Laura wouldn't be on the freeway in the middle of a work day. She was at the office, buried in paperwork, waiting for her reinstated business license. Even so, he tried to see who was in the Rabbit. It was no use, the top was up and it was too far ahead. Remington sighed and sunk back in the seat as the taxi inched forward.

Laura had progressed forward slightly, but was blocked again. Her mind drifted back to the Westfield vs Steele debate. Steele keeps suggesting we take little holidays together. Like William is doing. Was it the way they phrased it or her own bias that made one sound sleazy and the other sweet? The Rabbit inched forward. It can't be long now. Laura began to worry that she'd picked a fight with Steele to avoid feeling guilty about William. But we aren't exclusive, she reminded herself. The relationship hadn't gone anywhere in months or even years for that matter. I've tried to get him to give me a verbal commitment, but he always side steps the issue. Even so, he's been there all these months, just as if he had promised me something. And even though he flirts, he's never followed through with any other women, not for a long time now. Could there be a commitment, even if it's unspoken? "Shut up Laura!" she said out loud.

Laura became aware of the radio playing a love song urging someone to love before it's too late. "Oh hell." She punched the radio button. The station changed to another love ballad. The singer crooned about the need to stop drawing lines in order to get closer. PUNCH. This singer lamented that love drowns the spirit and bleeds the soul with endless aching longing. Laura leaned back in her seat and listened as the song continued - long lonely roads being eased by companionship, and love needing patience and nurturing to grow into something beautiful.

"Is somebody up there trying to tell me something?" Laura complained. The lane ahead opened up and suddenly she was clear of the traffic.

Laura glanced around the airport lobby, no William. Maybe he'd been stuck in traffic too. She waited in line at the ticketing desk, keeping an eye out for him. He still hadn't shown up by the time she'd reached the counter.

"Ticket on flight 1112 for Laura Holt," Laura showed the attendant her passport. The attendant stamped and ripped and handed her a boarding pass. "You'd better hurry honey," she said. "They're boarding now."

"Has Mr. Westfield picked up his ticket yet?" The agent typed into her computer, checking.

"William Westfield?" she asked. Laura nodded. "Yes mam', he has." Laura thanked the attendant and hurried to the concourse. A loud speaker announced, "Last call for flight 1112 to Vallarta, Mexico. The plane is in the final boarding process. All ticketed passengers should proceed immediately to gate B6." Laura arrived and gave the gate attendant her boarding pass before rushing down the ramp way.

Remington strolled down concourse B heading for gate B11. A loud speaker finished announcing final boarding for a flight to Mexico, before switching to, "Seating will begin for flight 2334 to Sydney Australia. All ticketed passengers may start boarding at gate B11."

"Just in time," Remington said with a rueful smile.

Laura congratulated herself on making the flight and for having the foresight to pack a carry-on. There hadn't been time to check luggage. She walked down the aisle to row 24 where William sat next to a vacant window seat.

"Sorry I'm late, an accident was tying up the freeway," she apologized.

"No problem. You're here now." William handed her a glass of wine.

"What's this?"

"The flight was delayed, so they served beverages to ease the wait."

Laura accepted the glass, automatically reaching to entwine her arm in his for the first sip, like she and Remington always did. She bumped right into him, almost spilling both glasses. "I'm sorry."

"That's all right, not much spilled."

"No, I'm sorry, I have to go." She handed her glass back to him. "I just can't."

"Now I'm the one who's sorry." He wore a bewildered look on his face as she got up and exited the plane.

Laura pulled the Rabbit away from the airport toll booth. The attendant gave her a funny look, wondering why she bothered with long term parking for such a short stop. Thoughts of Remington swirled in her mind as she drove out of the lot. A smile kept stealing across her face. Laura merged the Rabbit onto the highway heading toward the penthouse apartment. Unfortunately, it was now lunch hour and the traffic barely crawled along. Laura shied away from turning on the radio, preferring to sit in silence as she crept forward. It might be awkward showing up on his doorstep less than 24 hours after telling him they needed time apart. Propping her elbow on the car window, she leaned her head against her hand, trying to formulate what to say. Should she apologize, pretend it didn't happen, or admit she'd already come to her senses? What if he needed more time? Would he turn her away, refusing to talk? Laura forced herself to quit thinking negatively and focus on what to say when she saw him. "Sorry," obviously, and "I was wrong." He'll love that. "What we need in this relationship is more time together, not apart." Good. Why not just throw my arms around him and give him a kiss that will knock his socks off? Laura smiled. That would be his solution, part of his whole "what I do, not what I say" philosophy. Finally she made the off ramp and headed toward the penthouse at a decent rate of speed.

Laura parked at the curb and locked the Rabbit, then walked through the parking garage. The Auburn was in it's assigned spot, reassuring her that he was home. She got off of the elevator on the fifth floor feeling nervous and giddy, unable to suppress a smile as she knocked on the door to apartment A. "Well, here goes nothing. Give it all you got kid," she told herself as she waited for the door to open.


	3. Steele's Approval part 3

**Steele of Approval - Steele's side**

part 3

By K. Steinart

DISCLAIMER: This "Remington Steele" story is not-for-profit and is purely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the characters and am in no way affiliated with "Remington Steele," it's creators, producers or distributors.

This is an extension to the ending of Steele of Approval and leads into Steele Searching. Some scenes are slightly changed from the original episode. (Original scenes are in italics.)

The previous day, after saying goodbye to Mildred, Steele left to search for his father. Laura declined Westfield's invitation to fly to Mexico in favor of reconciling with Steele, but found his penthouse abandoned.

Mildred hurried to work after seeing Mr. Steele off. She arrived at the agency, pushed on the door, and jammed her hand when it failed to open. At the bottom of her purse, under the letter Mr. Steele had left for Laura, she located a spare set of agency keys and let herself in. She made a pot of coffee then settled at her desk, waiting to see what the day would bring.

As it was, the day brought nothing. Mr. Steele didn't call and Laura never showed. Mildred's numerous phone calls to Laura's loft went unanswered. Laura finally arrived at 9:40 the next morning. She ignored the pile of mail Mildred held out for her, explained that she'd overslept, and disappeared into her office without inquiring about Mr. Steele or offering an explanation as to her absence the day before. Mildred had searched Laura's face for signs of distress or sleepless nights, hoping for some indication that she'd made a mistake sending Mr. Steele away. Perhaps skillful application of makeup and a few drops of Visine were the reason she detected none, and not the unthinkable alternative, that Laura didn't miss him.

A few minutes later, Fred came in. "Morning Mildred. Checks in yet?"

"Here you go Fred." She handed him an envelope.

"Has Mr. Steele been driving himself to work?" Fred inquired casually.

"He's not in yet, " Mildred said, wondering if Fred knew something.

Fred looked around and then leaned in, his hands on her desk. "It's been too quiet the last day or so and Mr. Steele seemed a bit off the last time I saw him," he whispered. "Is someone sick or dying?"

"Not that I know of."

"Well he was majorly distressed about something, that's for sure."

"Who's majorly distressed?" Laura asked as she entered the room. Fred assumed his blank chauffeur's face.

"Oh... uh... Carlos on 'Days We are Together', " Mildred said quickly. "Brianna is having his baby, but is marrying Flint behind his back."

"Okay, okay." Laura held up her hands in surrender. "Even though we aren't currently licensed to investigate, I'm sure we can find better things to do."

"I'll be out washing the limo." Fred tucked his check into his coat pocket and hurried for the door. "Call if you need me."

Mildred dug around in the pile of mail on her desk, extracted an envelope from the licensing board, and handed it to Laura. "This came yesterday afternoon. Are we back in business?" Laura opened the envelope. "Are we reinstated? Mr. Steele talked to them personally so the paperwork would be expedited."

Laura flinched at the mention of Steele's name. "We're official again. Let me know the minute any new clients call." She tossed the license on the desk calling "file that please" as she disappeared back into her office.

Laura was extremely quiet the rest of the day. She wandered into Mr. Steele's office, staying in there alone for several hours. Around two, Mildred could stand it no longer. When Laura drifted through the reception area for the umpteenth time, Mildred casually asked, "Is the boss taking the day off, or what? This is late even for him." Laura looked a little taken aback for a moment, and then put an attempt at a smile on her face. "Oh didn't I tell you?" she said in an overly cheerful voice. "Mr. Steele is away on a case. He won't be in for awhile."

"Awfully sudden isn't it?"

"We can't predict when and where crime will occur, now can we Mildred? His services were required immediately. He left early yesterday."

"Where?" asked Mildred, still pressing.

"Well... ah... uh... he didn't say exactly. " Laura was flustered, the cheerful tone waning. She gave a sort of a cough, cleared her throat, and took a deep breath. "Sorry, something caught," she apologized, her hand patting her throat.

Laura may have discovered Mr. Steele was missing yesterday, but Mildred doubted she knew where he was, or what he was doing. Perhaps she didn't care. Maybe she spent yesterday with that Westfield. No, wait, keep a positive thought, she'd spent the day trying to locate the boss and now was just putting on a good front for the help. Deep in thought, Mildred narrowed her eyes and nodded.

Laura stared at her curiously, "Mildred, Mildred?"

Mildred blinked. "Yes?"

Laura handed her a list of five names. "Can you track down these men?"

"Of course. Who are they Miss Holt?"

"Oh, names Mr. Steele gave me when he called. I guess they have to do with the case he's on."

Now Mildred was confused. Had Mr. Steele changed his mind and called Laura after being so adamant about her not knowing where he'd gone? Or had Laura made up a case as a cover story to explain Mr. Steele's absence? Mildred liked the first option. The second option meant the boss was a day overdue checking in. Besides, Laura wouldn't make up five fictitious names to cover her deception. "I'll get right on it," Mildred said, taking the list.

Several days passed, and still no sign of the boss. Laura didn't seem worried, so Mildred assumed the situation was under control. She kept Steele's letter hidden safely away, intending to give it back to him when he returned. At least that slimeball Westfield wasn't around. Laura hadn't talked about him either, which was a good sign. Mildred prayed that Mr. Steele was making some progress, where ever he was, and that he'd return soon.

_Laura entered the office, a cheerful smile on her face. "Morning, morning, morning." she sung. _

_"That's just the way he used to greet me," Mildred said sadly. _

_Laura took off her hat and threw it. "Kareem sets, shoots... swish!" She smiled broadly as the hat landed on the cactus plant in the corner. _

_"You're awfully chipper this morning," Mildred commented. _It was the same chipper tone Laura used with clients when she reassured them all was well, when actually all hell was about to break loose.

_"Slept like a baby." _Chipper again.

_"I slept rotten, haven't had a good night's sleep since he left." _

_"Maybe you need a new mattress." Laura scanned through their appointment book. "Hmm, Roger Middleman at ten."_

_"Where is he Miss Holt? Why _isn't he back yet_?"_ Mildred tried to sound desperate, which wasn't hard. She wanted to believe the boss had been checking in with Laura instead of her, but what if he'd gone missing and hadn't checked in at all?

_Laura leaned down and took Mildred by the arms. "Get a grip on yourself Mildred, I told you, he's away on a case."_

_"What case?" Mildred asked_. If Laura knew Mr. Steele's whereabouts, why didn't she say? Surely he would have sent word via Laura that the plan had changed?

_"It's all very hush hush. I don't even know all the details myself. _How's that research Mr. Steele wanted coming along?" she added casually.

"I'm still working on it. No leads yet, maybe later this morning."

"Let me know as soon as you find out anything." Laura headed into her office.

"Will do," Mildred promised.

Mildred had a persistent uneasiness about the whole 'change of plans without telling her' thing, so she'd run Mr. Steele's name through her computer. He hadn't left town by plane, bus, or train. Maybe he drove? The Auburn was still in the garage, so Mildred decided to start checking rental car companies. As she turned to her computer, the printer suddenly started working furiously. Locations were showing up for the names on Laura's list. Mildred ripped off the paper when the printer finished, holding it up to read. It was so confusing, she needed to visually track what was going on. Quickly she typed her inquiry about Mr. Steele and rental cars into the computer. She pressed send and then went to the file cabinet to dig out a map. It was ready by the time Laura returned from lunch, but there were still no hits on rental cars in Mr. Steele's name. "That information you wanted came through," Mildred called as Laura walked in.

"Good, let me see it. " Laura held out her hand.

_"Well, it's a bit complicated, " Mildred explained, "I needed to make a map to keep track." Mildred proudly displayed the map to Laura. "Richard Blaine left LA for Australia a few days ago," she pointed to the map. "Then he disappeared, but Paul Fabrini left Australia for Italy. I lost him there, when John Morrel left Rome for Paris. Michael O'Leary went from Paris to Dublin, but Douglas Quintain left Dublin for London. ", Mildred finished with a flourish, and put down her map. "What are they up to Miss Holt?"_

_"Only Mr. Steele knows the answer to that.", Laura said._

_"How do we get this information to Mr. Steele? "_ Mildred tried once again to pry the boss's whereabouts out of Laura.

_"Oh he's way ahead of us on this one, I can assure you Mildred." Laura said. "Book us two tickets on the first flight to London."_ Mildred didn't know what to do, she hadn't gotten the rental car information yet. And what if her hunch was right and she needed to stay by the agency phone in case he called in?

"Make the call Mildred," Laura insisted.

"Can I have a word with you first?"

"Mildred, we don't have time for this. We need to get to London before --"

"Before what?" Mildred asked suspiciously. Both women stared at each other, an urgent look on each of their faces. Mildred swept past Laura and headed into Mr. Steele's office. Laura followed her.

"What's going on here?" Laura exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Mildred pulled a folder out of the back of the bottom drawer of Steele's desk.

"When did you last talk to the chief?"

"I told you, the night he left he--"

"Truthfully." Mildred gave her a no nonsense look. "Has he called or contacted you in the past week?"

"No," Laura said quietly. "I haven't heard from him at all, I... I found his apartment empty, completely empty..." Suddenly the stress of the last few days and the sleepless nights caught up with her. "I don't know Mildred. I don't have a clue where he's gone or why," she confessed tearfully.

"I do." Mildred pulled a letter from the file and held it out to Laura.

"What's that?" Laura noticed her name written on the front in Remington's handwriting. "Where did you get this?" She took the letter from Mildred.

"Sit down honey, we have something to discuss." Mildred led Laura over to the couch and they both sat down. "He came to me, to my house, that night. He was very upset. Thought you had thrown him out, thought you wanted to be with that Westfield guy instead."

"Oh no." Laura put a hand to her mouth to stifle a small sob. "It's true."

"Well, if you do want Westfield," Mildred hesitated. "I shouldn't give you that." She tried to take back the letter.

"What? No!" Laura clutched the letter.

"The boss left that letter, in case you missed him or something. But he thought you thought you and he were through, and if that was the case, then I was to burn the letter," Mildred rambled, hoping she was making some kind of sense.

"No, no, no. I was confused," Laura protested. "I thought I wanted to be with William because I thought Mr. Steele and I would never fully connect. That I could never fully trust him. That he would never commit to a relationship."

"Go on." Mildred sat back and stopped trying to retrieve the letter.

"I went away with William to Mexico."

"I know, to check up on that boy who--"

"No, a second time. You know,that night. The night he left, I was on a plane, with William, to go to Mexico. The stewardess was serving champagne. We took our glasses and I turned to him. I went to entwine my arm around his, the way Mr. Steele does, and then it hit me. The guy with me wasn't Mr. Steele."

"Good deduction Miss Holt."

"No, Mildred. I mean I suddenly realized I WANTED it to be Mr. Steele. I wanted to go to Mexico with Mr. Steele, not this guy, not a stranger. I realized what Mr. Steele and I needed was more time alone together, not apart."

"So what did you do?"

"I made a lame apology and got off of the airplane. I drove straight over to Mr. Steele's apartment, to hug him, to apologize for what I'd said earlier, to explain--"

"But he was already gone." Mildred shook her head in sympathy.

"Yes," Laura said tearfully. "His closets, every drawer, empty. I just sat on the bed stunned. It was my worst nightmare come true." Mildred put her hand gently on Laura's arm. "I just stayed there, all night, crying and hoping he would somehow return. When morning came and he didn't, I realized I had to go on. I got up, went home, changed clothes, and came into the office."

"So you've been missing him all along, and this cheerful Charlie routine--"

"Was just an act. I've had to take sleeping pills at night to get even a little sleep."

"Talk about your miscommunications. " Mildred slowly shook her head.

"We all seem to need work on our personal communication skills."

"Speaking of communications. " Mildred pointed to the letter in Laura's hand.

Laura blew out a short breath. "Take it easy honey, it must be good news if you were to get it if you wanted him back."

"Here goes." Laura opened the letter and read silently.

"Dear Laura, If you're reading this, it must mean we still have a chance. Thank Mildred for being the middleman for me. I wanted to tell you directly, before I left, but given your mood and our track record for discussing personal feelings, I decided it would be more beneficial to do things this way.

I want to make it work with you. Please give me another chance. After our talk I was very depressed. I thought our time together was over, and suddenly I realized I had nothing. Nothing to call my own, not even a name. If I was going to give back the name you gave me, I wanted to replace it with one that was truly my own. I need that, for myself, and for you. I hope if I can answer your most persistent question, ie my real name, with a truthful answer, that you will begin to trust me. Trust my feelings for you. I have very strong feelings for you Laura. So strong they scare me sometimes, and I back away. Perhaps that's what we both have been doing. Backing away so that we don't have to face a situation that, if it fails, could crush our hearts. Well, it's time to quit thinking of what could go wrong and concentrate on what is so very right about us. I look forward to discussing this with you further in person, but for now I'm searching. I'm on a mission to finally find my father. Someone, besides Patrick O'Rourke, knows both of us. I have to find that person. I'm tracking down all of the people I used to know, who would maybe know who I am now. One of them must know something. I'll nail down my past once and for all and return triumphant to you, my darling Laura. I hope you'll forgive me for leaving so suddenly. I hope you'll welcome me back with open arms.

Yours forever,

a reformed conman who needs a name."

Laura leaned back, clutching the letter to her.

"Good news?" Mildred was dying to know.

"Yes, it was lovely." Laura's smile was genuine this time. "Mildred we must go to London right away, we must find Mr. Steele."

"You think he's there?"

"Definitely. You know those names you tracked down? Well they're... uh... former... associates of Mr. Steele's. I'm positive that if we find Douglas Quintain in London, we'll find our Mr. Steele."

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's get a move on." Mildred jumped up and headed for the phone.

Several thousand miles away, a grimy Remington ran down a dark alley in a dangerous part of London. He ducked into a dark doorway as the two threatening men who were chasing him went by. Remington stepped out of the doorway and looked up " I hope you're looking for me, Mildred old girl, I really need some help here." Then he ran up the alley the way he had come.

Cue Title for 'Steele Searching'.


End file.
